


original displaced personalities

by Pigeon



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Community: spn_30snapshots, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeon/pseuds/Pigeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://spn-30snapshots.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://spn-30snapshots.livejournal.com/"><b>spn_30snapshots</b></a>.  Posted in written order and not chronological order.</p>
<p>Jeff, Jensen, a theatre critic, an actor, New York in 1950.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Performance (17.  Show)

**Author's Note:**

> Snapshot table can be found over [Here](http://pigeongirl99.livejournal.com/267925.html#cutid1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeff watches Jensen put on a show

It itches beneath his skin. The bubbles in the champagne turn bitter in his mouth, and he swallows them back with a grimace. Somewhere to his left is a loud braying laugh, and he can smell rich cigar-smoke, floral perfume, and too strong cologne.

It itches, and the smile on his face has turned rictus.

He watches a hand glide across Jensen's shoulder blades, tanned fingers feeling the expensive blue serge of his suit, lingering, dropping to the small of his back.

Jensen twists away, eyes cutting to the side, but grinning, and nodding his welcome.

His skin itches and his stomach knots, and he watches Jensen laugh at the man's jokes, even as he takes in the over-tight grip Jen has on the fragile stem of his champagne flute.

The man steps close, and there are two many bodies, too little space for Jensen to back up.

The words said are lost in the hum of music and conversation.

Jensen has his head tucked low.

The man reaches for Jensen's elbow and Jensen bares his teeth a little, a bright, biting mockery of a smile, and excuses himself, darting off to the side, forcing himself between mingling bodies.

Jeff finds him out the service door, standing next to an overflowing dumpster, rotting lettuce hearts at his feet, cigarette jammed between lips, blue smoke circling up.

Jensen looks at him with wide eyes, all performance falling away.

Jeff hooks his hand around the nape of Jensen's neck, tugs him near, thumb stroking baby-fine hair.

Jensen shudders once.


	2. Inhale (1. Inhale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scent is too old for a boy that young.

The scent is too old for him. _Bay Rum_. Heavy with cloves. Sharp with lime. It's something the boy's father would wear - splashed on every Saturday night, bathtub gin and slick fried chicken at a blind pig. Dancing and girls in cheap stockings and cotton dresses, sawdust on the floor and two accordions playing a polka.

He leans in and past, shallow pretence at reaching over for a Gibson in blue tinted glass. 

He breathes in.

Holds that scent.

Citric and sharp at the back of his throat.

Too old for a boy who must be – _Twenty? Twenty-two?_

Too young for the last war, not even born for the one before that.

Too damn young for Jeff to be trying to catch a taste of his scent on his tongue, to be leaning close to hear the rough hitch of Texas in his voice, to be wanting to bite at the back of his neck, knuckle up hard behind the boy's balls and swallow him down.

Too young and pretty for Jeff to want to lick the back of his neck, bite at the knob of bone there, scrape his beard against the soft span of skin between shoulder blades.

He swallows down his drink, watching the boy duck his head as he laughs low and guarded, and leaves the bar without looking back.


End file.
